


Edelweiss

by egelska



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A pinch of slice of life, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Porn with Feelings, Seasoned with a dollop of violence and blood, Slow Burn, Topped off with a breading of 'they're fucking now'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 05:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7672066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egelska/pseuds/egelska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Captain Fareeha Amari has the chance to work with a team from the newly and unofficially reformed Overwatch, she jumps at the chance. It would only be a few weeks of recon and a joint operation before a return to normal work on the Giza Plateau. At least, that was the plan. It could have all been perfectly professional, but Angela is to Fareeha as gasoline is to fire. Nothing goes according to plan when everything is burning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Common trigger warnings will be tagged in the beginning chapter notes.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and enjoy! ♥

> **_SUBJECT:_** Opportunity for Joint Operations  
>  _**TO:**_ Winston – Winston@Watchpoint  
>  _**FROM:** _ Fareeha Amari – amari@helix
> 
>   
>  Winston,
> 
> I was given your handle by Reinhardt Wilhelm to run a possible joint operation by you. Helix is relatively certain that Talon is operating in Cairo, but our resources are dedicated to the Giza Plateau. Not only that, but we feel that local and federal authorities are unequipped for the possible repercussions.
> 
> You are.
> 
> Even if there is no officially sanctioned Overwatch—and there is none, to anyone outside of this email—I know that the ex-agents are very suitable for operations of this nature. I am referring to them as such in all conversations, as we have no confirmation that there is any organization holding you together. As such, you and any ex-agents you select will be paid like any other Helix freelancer, and this will be your official title while in Cairo. Please let me know if you have the interest and ability to mobilize a team. Assistance is needed as soon as possible.
> 
> For now, reply via message only. I can guarantee the security of the Helix servers and those I have told about this correspondence, but I cannot guarantee that any other form of communication is secure.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Fareeha Amari
> 
> Helix International Security Corp.

Fareeha had grown up. Everyone who knew her during the glory days of Overwatch was aware of this in theory, but seeing her in person was a shock. When she greeted the jet at the airport, she wore a rolled-up and unbuttoned flannel over a black tank top. Her chosen outfit exposed just enough of her arms for everyone to see that she was now muscled as well as any soldier—unsurprising, but different. She stood with her feet wide and arms crossed, a declaration of confidence to the world in body language. Reinhardt grinned as he caught sight of her from the jet’s doorway—he knew her choice of clothing and pose was on purpose.

Reinhardt was first off the plane, so he took the opportunity to charge down the steps. “Fareeha!”

He was bellowing already, she noted. He dumped his suitcases to the ground unceremoniously as he grabbed Fareeha and lifted her up in a tight hug. “Look at you! You have gone from little to a grown woman! You are almost as big as me! Perhaps one day, _ja_?”

Fareeha let out a loud laugh even though her ribs ached from the squeezing. She gave a hug in return. “Reinhardt! You haven’t aged a day, have you? At least—your strength hasn’t!”

He set her down, almost abashed to realize he had been squeezing too hard. He was about to speak when McCree poked his head out of the doorway and shouted. “Fareeha, lookit you! You could pick a fella up and spin him around now! When did that happen?”

She grinned at Reinhardt and strode forward to offer a handshake to her childhood friend. “I think I could lift you, yes. As for spinning you around, I think so. But if not, I will work on it.”

With one hand, he grabbed hers tightly and shook. With the other hand, he was procuring a cigarillo from his bag. “Doc doesn’t like it when I smoke, but she’d tan my hide if she caught me smoking on a plane,” he explained as he let go.

“Indeed she would,” came a scolding voice from the steps.

Fareeha looked up. There she was—Dr. Angela Ziegler. Her hair was tied up in a disheveled ponytail, half falling out on one side, as if she might have been sleeping on it on the flight over. She smiled down at Fareeha, and she felt herself returning it without thinking. “ _Ustaaza_ Ziegler! Welcome. It’s so good to see you again, and so reassuring to have you working with us. I hope your talents will not be necessary, and you will have time to enjoy Cairo!”

Angela’s smile was just a slight upturn of the lips. “I hope so, too. I trust that you’ll show all of us around, yes? We have a lot to catch up on. Jesse would happily talk your ear off, and to be quite honest, I could, too.”

Jesse puffed smoke and glanced back at them. “I’d be all offended usually, but it ain’t like she’s lyin’.”

Tracer dragged a bag with each arm. She came out chattering, which surprised nobody. “Jesse! You’re so excited you’re acting like a git! You forgot your suitcase!”

He turned, one hand on his cigarillo and the other pointing an accusing finger at the Englishwoman. “You wouldn’t stop talking the whole way! I’m not the git—you’re—well, uh-- you’re a git too!”

Fareeha laughed, a rich, warm sound that came from the belly. “Children! Behave.”

Reinhardt did a double take. He could have sworn— he refused to finish the thought. The point stood, though. That scolding could just as well have been Ana. Even the tone was spot on. “We’re wasting time here while Helix’s people try to unload. It’s time to get going, if you all have your essentials!”

Angela looked back uncertainly at the workers, pursing her lips. “I have a basic medical bag, but without the Valkyrie suit or access to a hospital, I will be absolutely useless.”

“Doc, you’re never useless,” chuckled McCree. “You could fix someone up with a sewing kit and some over the counter pain meds.”

Angela jumped-- Tracer was suddenly right behind her. Lena called it a talent. “Right! She’s a lucky charm,” she chimed in, hefting two massive duffel bags over her shoulders.

Fareeha smiled, then clapped her hands together. “ _Yallah!_ Let me show you to your accommodations,” she said, gesturing forward and already turning. “They are only a short drive from here.”

She was correct. The drive was short, and it felt like only a few minutes with all the chatter that filled the van. The provided accommodations were a high-class set of extended stay suites on the top floor of a Cairo high rise. Every top floor suite opened out to a balcony on one side, and to the central rooftop garden on the other. Jesse let out a loud whistle when they got out of the van. “Y’all paid out the ass for these, huh? Oh, shit—wait, you’re not a kid anymore. I can swear around you and nobody’s gonna flay me!”

Reinhardt laid a large palm on McCree’s shoulder and said, unable to keep a laugh in, “You are all children to me! I am being paid to be a glorified babysitter!”

Mercy ignored them as she got her baggage from the trunk. She let out a huff as she tried to get both a hulking medical bag and a large suitcase out at once. Fareeha took a step forward and grabbed the suitcase handle. “May I, _ustaaza_?”

“Oh— _bitte_ ,” replied Angela as a smile came to her lips. “They are unwieldy, aren’t they?”

It felt like herding cats, but Reinhardt eventually had the group on the elevator. It was completely full, considering they had all packed to stay for weeks. That meant everyone had multiple suitcases, and then there was Reinhardt, who could take up much of an elevator by himself. On the top floor, Pharah directed everyone to their rooms one by one and gave little waves as each operative closed the door.

Last was Jesse. He grinned. “No smokin’, right?”

Fareeha was matter of fact in her reply. “There is a balcony for your use. I’m sure they will provide you an ashtray if you request one, but yes, the hotel would prefer you not smoke in the suite or the central garden.”

“Huh. Damn. You really got them to fork out the cash for these, huh? You think that much of us?”

She smirked, looking him straight in the eyes. He almost thought she was going to crack a joke, but when she spoke, her voice was affectionate and kind. “Yes, I do. You know that.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. I haven’t been this pampered in years, so you’re getting’ a hug. C’mere.”

With that, she was ushered into a tight hug. “Missed having an Amari around,” he sighed. “Sorry. That was—wrong, uh… Shouldn’t have—“

Her little “Oh“ made him wince and await her response.

He relaxed when she finally spoke. “It’s fine,” murmured Fareeha as she squeezed him back. “I understand how you must feel. Get going, now. You have work tomorrow.”

He let go with a little huff, but he stopped to ruffle her hair ever so slightly. “Thanks. You were always a good kid. Now you’re all grown up, and you’re still just as good. That’s an accomplishment in itself. See ya around, Amari.”

She was fixing her hair and pursing her lips as the door closed. When she was sure nobody could see, she grinned.

She had missed them, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ikhras: shut up!  
> Qus qazah: rainbow

“Her voice holds the same authority as her mother’s,” McCree thought as Fareeha spoke in fast-paced Arabic to those team members who spoke it. After a short chat with them, she switched into English and addressed the entire group. “You all know who I am, but let’s be formal, shall we? I can’t resist a proper introduction. I’m Captain Fareeha Amari, and I’ll be overseeing this operation. My call sign is Pharah, and over comms, you will all refer to me as such. Also, on comms, use English.”

“Helix and the contractors have studied activity in the New Cairo Industrial Zone and found three warehouses that need to be officially checked—with no warning. I will be hidden, but in the Raptora suit. Mercy—again, remember that no names are used, only callsigns—will be with me in her Valkyrie suit. Twice as many wings as we’re used to-- right, squad?”

Quiet chuckles sounded from the assembled group. She smiled, trying to get more of a reaction to her joke, but tension was in the air. She gave up and continued. “Anyway, Hawk, Wilhelm, and Eagle,“ she said as she gestured to one of the burlier Helix security employees, their police liason, and then to Reinhardt, “will be the ones actually making contact at the warehouses. Before they do so, Tracer and Sparrow will do a quick sweep for suspicious activity. The rest of you are going two per exit.”

“Clear?”

A chorus of “Yes, _efendim!_ ” and “Yes, ma’am!” erupted from the group.

Pharah gave a little look at those who had used the Arabic version—a silent reminder of what language to use while in the presence of these outsiders. A short young man shrunk back slightly, and her gaze softened. It only took glances for her to communicate with her team. Words were superfluous. “Check your comms, and let’s go.”

Words spilled out into earphones for a minute, then slowly tapered off into silence. “Into the transports, then.”

They filed into their three assigned transports, not particularly conspicuous from the outside, but tiny on the inside due to the thickness of the metal exteriors. Pharah sat beside one of her men, and beside McCree. Neither of them could keep quiet. In fact, they seemed to like each other very much.  
  
Amr, callsign Sparrow, leaned forward around Farreha to look Jesse in the face. “So how long are you here?”

“Another five weeks or so, assuming nothing gets fucked up,” replied McCree, fidgeting with what might be a cigarillo in a plastic baggie.

“Anywhere you really want to visit? You gotta get one of us to show you. Captain Amari’s always busy, but she knows you guys, right?”

“Yeah, actually,” chuckled McCree. “That new club, _Qus Qazah._ Pretty obvious stuff there, naming a club Rainbow, right?”

Amr nodded. “Headed there alone, or are you in good company with your team? I’m guessing the older man isn’t with you… Well, he’s with you, but he’s not with you, right?”

“Nah, he's not with me. As for anyone coming with me, I’unno,” he replied with a shrug. “I’m gonna ask Doc Ziegler and Lena. I mean, I know they’re both into gals, but I don’t have a clue if Lena’s into clubs.”

Fareeha tensed up slightly at that, and close as they were, it was impossible for McCree not to notice. His smile extended into a full-on smirk. “Hey, Fareeha. Your cheeks are red! I’ll be damned! You should come with us, if that’s your style. We’re here for a few weeks—it’ll be bonding.”

Amr wheezed. Her arm pressed against Jesse’s side for a moment before she elbowed him in the ribs, hopefully too subtly for Amr to see. “It’s her style. Everyone’s her style, right, Captain?”

Jesse winced but looked over, still grinning. He’s exactly the same, she thought. She shot Sparrow a withering glare. Her words were genuinely embarrassed. “ _Ikhras!_ He doesn’t need to know who I take to dinner!”

“Aw, he’s known you for so long, maybe he can hook you up with someone you actually like. Captain Amari’s got a legion of starry-eyed suitors here waiting to be asked on a second date. Can you say ‘high standards?’”

“Hey, Fareeha, that’s good. You’ll play ‘em as well as me and Reyes— uh-- as well as me someday.”

He stuttered, and the words died on his tongue. Amr was blissfully oblivious, but Fareeha winced. “Maybe,” she replied after some thought. “Ask me again when you’re planning to go.”

The driver looked back at the three of them and called, “We’re pulling up to the rendezvous point. Get ready to get out and gear up. You men, Captain has more to put on than the rest of you, so watch her back.”

“I ain’t letting anything happen to her,” chuckled McCree, pressing a hand against Peacekeeper and giving her a genuine smile. “She’s my pal.”  
Fareeha smirked, trying to keep up the façade of cockiness even though she was genuinely moved. Her voice gave it away. “Thanks, Jesse. I know you mean that.”

The transport halted just outside an open delivery bay in a rented warehouse. They filed out, Fareeha last. The other trucks were arriving as well, two filled with other operatives and one carrying the Raptora, Crusader, and Valkyrie suits. Tracer, Mercy, and Hawk came inside the building one by one, and Mercy glanced around. As she often did when anxious, she took her hair out of its trademark ponytail and put it up again. Something was giving her a bad feeling.

Amélie Lacroix would have been feeling the same way, if that was possible these days. Quietly, she reported over comms. “Confirmed. They’re in our area, and they have too many Overwatch agents to have recruited them separately.”

A voice crackled to her in return. She always thought for a moment that his voice was distorted by a dying comm before remembering that his voice was always this – no words quite describe it-- odd. “Noted. If it comes to it, try to get the little Amari in the eye. It’d be funny.”

Amélie snickered. There was no emotional reason, but she knew Reyes wanted his joke to be appreciated—and it would be ironic. She enjoyed irony. “Will do. I’m watching them until they move out. You know the contingency plan for anything being seen. We’ll just—how do you say?—put it in practice earlier than we had intended.”

Mercy tugged a strand of hair out of her ponytail, another nervous quirk. Playing with her hair soothed her. Everyone had arrived now. They weren’t risking anyone seeing the suits, so that truck backed right up to the delivery bay before even opening up.

It took too long to get suited up. It had been too long since she saw Reinhardt in this getup, she thought, giving him a shy smile. That was before Fareeha—no, Pharah—came back into view. She was a sight to be seen. Her visor concealed almost all of her face, which was already hawklike enough without the suit’s defining motif. Now, she looked nothing like the girl Angela had known and everything like an angel of death. “What do you think, ustaaz Ziegler? I’m confident you will be well protected next to the Raptora, when I’m the pilot.”

Angela looked down, feeling a tiny bit shy—which felt odd, because she had known Fareeha when she was just a tiny girl! But this woman, so strong and bold and even arrogant, was at once something else entirely and exactly the same. “I hope you feel the same knowing I wear the Valkyrie.”  
“And do not forget me! I will protect the lot of you! You must all feel protected, because I am as strong as Lancelot now!”

All eyes traveled from the two women to Reinhardt Wilhelm, who lifted his massive hammer and thumped it on the ground. McCree winced. “Don’t break anything. Not yet, anyway. We don’t have money to pay for shit-all in damages, and worse, Winston will give you the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ talk.”

“Ja, ja—ah, sorry. Yes. Ja means yes. I think you knew that, but I will be speaking only in English for the duration of the operation!” He gave a cheerful thumbs up to the native Arabic speakers, though in fact, the only one whose native language is English was Lena.

She took her chance to pipe up. “Right then. I’ll get going with my new mate Sparrow here! You all get into position and we’ll let you know what to expect!”

They took off, Tracer leaving a blue blur behind her. For a scout, she wasn’t exactly the epitome of stealth, but she came highly recommended. Pharah trusted those recommendations. The rest of them dispersed with minutes in between, save only a few assigned to stay with the trucks to manage communications equipment and provide a fast getaway if possible. None of them were in armor except Pharah and Mercy—they would gear up nearer to their spots and blend in until then.

The warehouses were all within a few block radius, with a park situated up a hill from two of the three. Pharah and Mercy were going there to hunker down beneath a small projector that would give off the illusion of empty space. It wouldn’t last forever, but it would last long enough. Unless someone quite literally walked into them, they were invisible to the naked human eye.

Amélie’s eyes weren’t naked. In fact, she wasn’t sure if they counted as human at this point. Luckily, none of that bothered her. Nothing bothered her.

Tracer’s voice chirped in everyone’s ears. “Target A looks clean, folks! I’m headed on to B! You’re clear to approach!”

“Roger,” came Reinhardt, sounding just as chipper. “Moving in.”

Hawk and Eagle went in the double doors. If they were having a conversation, it wasn’t on the comms. Reinhardt followed. “Update, when you can,” came Tracer’s voice. “Still nothing on the outside of Target A. I’m out of here!”

“Looks normal inside here,” came the text-to-speech from Hawk. “No obvious hidden doors. If something is here, requires more than this to prove it.”

The search of Target A went routinely. Tracer piped up again as soon as they were headed on. “I saw someone in a rooftop garden for a moment near Target B. Uphill. No visual now, though. That’s the only person about on the outside.”

A shiver ran down Mercy’s spine. She couldn’t place it. It was paranoid. They hadn’t warned anyone they were coming—the only way they would have been caught out is if someone had been following them all the way from Helix. It wasn’t impossible, but Winston had calculated the risks from Gibraltar. It was unlikely.

The reply came quickly and jolted Angela out of her thoughts. “All right, we’ll watch the skies. We’re headed in!”  
She spoke up, tentative. “Can we get visual on that rooftop again, Tracer?”

“Sure, love! Lemme give it a shot,” came the response, crackling into Mercy’s earbud.

Before she had finished speaking, text-to-speech came from Reinhardt. “Nthn visually out of place, but something smells. Death + cleaning supplies. Not blood, corpse.”

Amélie—no, Widowmaker now—shut her visor over her eyes and peeked out the slightly open window. Only her visor was visible, and even then, a shading curtain covered her. She was watching Reinhardt closely until she turned to check the doorway. On her way, a large, hulking blip of heat came from the park. She did a double take. Nothing from her visuals—but heat doesn’t lie.

She pressed a finger to her comm and whispered. “Two hidden in the park. Probably more. Don’t engage Reinhardt. I will handle it.”

The telltale rumble came back, almost curious. If it was curiosity, it was a spiteful kind that could only come from a man like Reaper. “Is it Helix, or them?”

“Could be either. Shapes are angular, inhuman—“

She sucked in a breath. That was a little half-circle, jutting out from what must be a head. Cold, like metal, against the heat of a body. “Updated. It’s Ziegler, and one more. Engaging.”

Reaper’s voice jolted up in pitch-- only slightly more than his usual, but enough that Widowmaker knew he was invested. “Update me.”

Mercy leaned over to say something that never left her mouth. Their bodies were one hulking heat signal under the projector, pressed close for this exact reason. Pharah glanced down at the smaller woman as she opened her mouth to speak.

The shot rang out against the concrete and metal sides of the buildings in the industrial zone. Too fast for any warning, too fast for any motion to run.

“You know my results are the same every time, chérie. One shot, one kill.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gore, blood, etc. Everything you'd expect when someone just got shot.

The comms descended immediately into chaos. The shot caused multiple people to speak at once, and Mercy had to scream into her comm to make herself heard. “Pharah is hit. Repeat—Pharah is hit. Sniper using armor penetrating bullets on the west side of the park. I need visuals on the sniper! Now!”

Now that the alarm had been officially sounded, she could focus on only one thing—Fareeha.

It had happened so fast. She thought that every time they encountered a sniper. Mercy had ducked behind Fareeha’s arm just as Widowmaker took her aim. She shot truly into the dead center of the halo. Nobody could have predicted that an armored limb would be between her and her true target. After all, as she’d said—if she was going to shoot an Amari, it would be in the eye. The bullet was lodged somewhere inside now. Best case scenario, it hadn’t penetrated skin and was inside the armor. The probability of that situation was low, but Angela still hoped. Her Swiss accent was suddenly much stronger when she spoke—perfect English was no longer a priority. “All right, now—Fareeha—can you get in the air still? We need to get out of here.”

Fareeha’s mouth was a hard, tense line under her visor, but her suit began to power up the jets. As it did so, she lifted her rocket launcher and fired a round straight back. Mercy’s wings extended in beautiful gold light that dragged Fareeha’s eyes away from returning fire. She fired off one more round, at least enough to buy time. “Good, good. Let’s get off the ground. Stay calm, and look at me. Don’t look at it. Let me guide where we’re going.”

Mercy wrapped her arm around as much of Pharah’s shoulders as she could and held on. The jets kicked in, and they wobbled up into the air and away. For a wobble, it was extremely fast. “Gut. You’re doing great, Fareeha,” she said, trying to be heard above the drone of the jets and the soft whoosh of her own suit tethering her to Pharah.

With that, a second bullet pierced the air. This one whizzed past Mercy, but just barely. She shuddered. It was just enough time to reload before a third bullet was fired. This one hit squarely in Pharah’s back, given by the way she arched forward and grunted.

Mercy barked her next words. “Look at me. Look at me, don’t focus on it. Focus on me and on flying.”

“I’ve had worse,” she replied with a strained laugh. “Probably. Can’t move my arm. Don’t touch it.”

Her words were spit out one by one, separated in a staccato sentence. This time she didn't have to fire back. One arm rested on her, and the other lifted her pistol from its holster. With a tiny pop-pop-pop, pathetic in comparison to the other weapons in this fight, Mercy unloaded it towards the figure they both saw streaking across the roofs after them. The figure dropped into an alley, and they lost sight of it. That was even worse than knowing it was pursuing them.

Mercy gave her a gentle, reassuring smile that dragged Fareeha’s attention away from the wounds. She was an angel in the air, quite literally. Most of her hair had fluttered its way out of her ponytail. Her gaze was concerned and—was that really fear? For her? Pharah felt glad she’d left her visor down, or the doctor would see her staring. Anything is a distraction when you’re injured, or so she’d taught herself. Whatever gets your mind off it. The shock was still in full force, so the pain was minimal, but she was glad to be guided instead of having to fly on her own.

Pharah wasn’t sure how much time passed between that and the next words she heard. Mercy’s voice was soft now, but her lips were pressed intimately close to the Raptora suit. She was so near that she could feel the heat rolling off it in small waves. “All right, you’ve done great. Let’s get back down. This alley has no windows and some cover. That’s it. You are as skilled with this suit as I heard.”

Pharah grinned, but it faltered as soon as it began. As they wobbled to the ground, Mercy pressed her comm button again. “You have our coordinates? Reinhardt, we need you and your shield here as soon as possible. Even better, one of the transports with empty space, prepped for me to work.”

“Ja, Mercy. Everyone not on the sniper is searching for other hostiles in your area!”

She was busy getting Pharah sitting as best she could. Other hostiles? She snapped back. “Visual on the sniper yet? We’re sitting ducks if there’s more out there.”

The next voice to pop up was Tracer’s. “Yeah, uh… A little purple blur going down the back stairs. When they looked back, red glow of some sort of helmet. Can’t find her—them-- yet.”

Hawk’s voice came next. The comms had been chaos, but now they were deathly quiet. “The corpse smell is here in the apartment. So are three spent cartridges. Update on Pharah?”

Fareeha hissed her words as Mercy detached the armor around her upper arm. Behind her voice was the sound of contained blood spilling onto the ground all at once. “As if some—ugh! Some cowardly little sniper could take me out with two shots.”

Mercy cut her off. “I’m muting my comm unless you specifically mention my callsign. No distractions unless it’s imperative, bitte.”

Angela’s face was impassive as she surveyed the first wound. It had gone in and out but lodged itself partially in Pharah’s arm simply because it had no velocity to move through another plate of armor. “The biotics are going to feel cold. They’re going to keep you as pain free as possible so I can work traditionally.”

Fareeha glanced down and saw the bullet protruding from her arm. “Ah. Traditionally.”

She let out a little laugh that turned into a hacking cough. A bit of blood dribbled down her chin. Before Angela could respond, or even try to, she heard thumping, metallic footsteps. The usually bellowing Reinhardt came toward them as quickly as he could in that suit, speaking quietly. “No hostiles here. Transport is on the way. No sign of the sniper.”

In fast-paced German, Angela responded. Reinhardt tilted his helmeted head ever so slightly, walked up beside them, and then lifted his shield above his head. Above it, a pale blue barrier shimmered into place. They were safe from sniper fire from above. If the sniper wanted to finish the job, they’d have to do it from where they could be seen. Pharah coughed again, harder this time, and a mixture of blood and spit came flying out of her mouth and straight onto Mercy’s immaculate white armor.

She didn’t even respond to it. Just blood and spit? Easy. Her staff glowed a beautiful yellow, the same as her wings, and Pharah began to truly feel the biotics kick in. Mercy reached down and—with a sickening “schlick”—pulled the shell out of the younger woman. Her arm wound began desperately trying to knit itself back together as soon as the bullet was out. All three of them stared down at the constant motion for different reasons.

The gory hole shrank slowly until it was a crater on either side of her arm. The tissue connected in the center, which was what Angela really cared about. She moved right on and began dismantling Pharah’s breastplate. Beneath the core of the Raptora was a sweat-drenched, bloody woman in a tank top, shuddering as the air hit her wound. Mercy registered that Fareeha was muscled and beautiful, but such things were secondary to her staying alive. “Help me flip her. This one didn't go all the way through.”

Reinhardt said nothing, but lifted Fareeha in one gentle arm and rested her against his chest so she wouldn't flop against the ground. This wound was far worse than the other, judging by the little exhale that came from Mercy.

“She needs to be back in the med bay, as soon as possible, but I can get her there.”

The biotics filled her veins with ice, and she shuddered. A little groan escaped her lips. “Ustaaza, that’s… Ugh,” she trailed off.

“I'm just going to keep your pain down and work on the arm, all right? Don't look at it.”  
She looked, and was the final straw. She had been healed with biotics before, but nothing of this strength. Her tissue was shuddering and bubbling like a liquid, and the cold was penetrating her entire body. She gazed up at Mercy for a long moment through her visor before her eyes rolled back in her head and she gave in to unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter in which there's some serious hints about feelings, but whether they're going to act on them is TBD!
> 
> Updates are going to slow down a bit now, as I've got a patch of things that are unwritten here before I get back into stuff that's drafted.
> 
> Translations:  
> Habibti: feminine version of habibi. Literally, "my beloved." Used for family, friends, and lovers. Guess which way Pharah means it.  
> Guete Morge: good morning.

Fareeha’s world swam, mostly painted in black and grey. Even those non-colors were still too much for her. For a moment, she was certain that this was death. Some melody thudded in her head-- a humming sound — soft and slow. A beeping beat and little rustles in the background. Singing, now. A word? Something harsh, with a “v” sound. The tone wasn’t harsh, even if the sound was. It was pleasant.

She forced her eyes open and turned her head. A white lab coat, and a golden ponytail. Even with the blurry and confusing sights overwhelming her, that was enough to identify _ustaaza_ Ziegler. She was turned away, shuffling through papers. That was the rustling. The heart rate monitor was producing the beeping. Her heart rate monitor. _“At least I’m not dead,”_ she thought. Even her thoughts felt groggy. _“How much pain medication am I on?”_

A spoken word fell out of her mouth without her meaning to. It didn’t register as inappropriate, and wouldn’t until it was too late to take back the nickname. “ _Habibti_.”

Angela jumped, and spun her chair around. She didn’t question the word at all. “Fareeha! _Guete Morge!_ You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

She sounded truly excited. For a moment, Fareeha thought she had just been waiting here as a friend, not as a doctor. That thought faded into the haze of drugs as she forced words off her tongue. “Drugged or dead,” she responded. “Hopefully, just drugged, yes?”

For some reason, Angela’s smile twitched at that comment. Her voice didn’t shake, so it must not be a big deal, she concluded. “Definitely just drugged. Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?”

The questions didn’t quite register. Almost plaintively, she asked, “How am I?”

Angela was always patient, but now even more so. She had been stoic while working in the heat of the field, but in the hospital she had a warm bedside manner. As she walked over, her small heels click-click-clicked on the floor in a manner Fareeha decided she liked. She sat down in the chair beside Fareeha’s bed, and only then did she speak. “You passed out, and I kept you under for quite a while. Once you were stable enough to wake, you simply needed your sleep. Before you ask where you are, you’re back at Helix, in the infirmary. As you can see, I am collaborating with Helix’s medics on your care.”

She nodded, eyes half-lidded already. “Did my people – our people-- get the sniper?”

Angela looked away before speaking this time. “No, but we do have a decent idea of her identity,” she murmured.

She was adjusting her ponytail again. Something about that sniper was putting her on edge, thought not as much as she had been before the mission. “Tell me, then.”

“I, ah… It would be better for that to wait, I think,” replied Angela, now busying herself with smoothing out the sheets under Fareeha’s call light.

Fareeha furrowed her brows. Her voice was groggy, tired, and angry. “Tell me!”

Mercy-- Angela-- looked almost hurt at the tone. She had always been guarding secrets. She came and went on her own terms, and she spoke about only what was necessary. In this way, she reminded Fareeha of the many stray cats in Cairo. She was only concerned with survival-- never anything else. Finally, she spoke. “Amélie Lacroix—now known as Widowmaker. One of Talon’s best.”

Fareeha turned her head up to stare at the ceiling. She wanted to avoid eye contact, or her eyes might well up. The pain medications made her feel much more open and vulnerable, and she hated it. “Ah. But the first two shots were for you. Why would she want you dead specifically? I would have thought she’d take pleasure in sniping me, of all people, considering who’s presumably in her track record.”

Angela’s face turned white, and she turned away. Everything was made of secrets when it came to the agents of Overwatch. She had known that from her youth. Apparently, nothing had changed. “That’s need to know, hm?”

“Ja,” came the quiet reply. “And… I still miss Captain Amari. I tell myself, you will not die. But I have been unable to help before.”

With a cold, stifled laugh, she turned to look back at Fareeha. “I’m sorry-- you are Captain Amari now, and my words are not thoughtful ones.”

Fareeha pointed up to the Eye of Horus adorning her skin. “She’ll _always_ be Captain Amari,” she said with feeling, then let her hand fall as if it had taken considerable effort to lift it. “And I don’t know if I’ll remember any of this conversation after the pain medications wear off. So—try not to worry, _ya habibti_.”

Angela chuckled softly. “My job is to worry over the well-being of others,” she replied. “I would find it challenging to stop that worry at only the physical even if I wasn’t fond of my coworkers.”

Fareeha broke out into a smirk and glanced up at her for a moment, warmth in her eyes. “So you’re fond of me, Doctor?”

Angela startled at that, suddenly guarding herself and her words again. Fondness was apparently not to be tolerated unless she initiated it. _“Exactly like the cats,”_ Fareeha thought to herself. “Yes, of course-- but anyone should be able to enjoy the people they work with.”

“Hey, that’s good. I’m fond of you, too. It’s hard not to be when someone just pulled two bullets out of your guts.”

That was more affectionate than she had intended, she realized with horror. Angela was having similar feelings. Her stomach twisted, and she couldn’t pin down the emotion that Fareeha had just caused. She thought it was fear. There’s no way she could even consider-- that. Just the fact that this conversation was happening was reason enough to be terrified.

“I’m glad. But speaking of that, Pharah, your bandages need to be changed,” she said, her voice chilly again.

She had even used her call sign instead of her name. That word was an unspoken verdict: no. Fareeha deflated, glancing away. She wasn’t used to being shot down, even when she was only joking around. That brought more questions to her mind-- _was_ she joking around?

“Thank you. Go ahead.”

Mercy stood, smoothed her pencil skirt, and began preparations. Fareeha watched as she bustled around the room. She washed her hands-- meticulously, which was unsurprising and reassuring-- before putting on a pair of gloves. She brought bandages and a washcloth out from a cabinet. Fareeha saw her take the time to test the water over her wrist and wait until it was warm but not hot. That was routine, but it felt like a personal gesture.

Angela turned back, prepared, and caught her staring. She jolted a little before recovering. She had been so self-assured in the immediate aftermath of the gunshots, but now she was jumpy, like a prey animal caught in the eyes of a hawk.

Maybe Fareeha could be that hawk, but Angela was no mouse. She’d proven that more than once. They were not simple enough to be an easy metaphor-- especially when the one thinking of it was full of medication.

She came back over and, with a word in Swiss German, ordered the bed to rise up to a workable height. It buzzed softly and lifted Fareeha up. Now she could study Angela’s face, even if it was done in little, shy glances. The first thing she noticed was that Angela was slightly sunburnt despite her best efforts. “ _Cute_ ,” she thought before she could stop herself. “ _A white, Swiss woman in the desert. Of course she’d get sunburned.”_

Angela tugged up her hospital gown, causing Fareeha’s breath to hitch, then cut open the bandage around her belly. It was wet from sweat and blood, though the blood was barely noticeable now. Fareeha felt her breathing hasten. It was hard not to, with Angela’s slender hands brushing her naked skin. At least she was wearing shorts beneath the gown, thank God. Was that routine, she wondered? She didn't think so. Then came the water, and she was distracted. Gentle hands pressed against her as a warm washcloth soothed her stomach wound, and Fareeha’s thoughts scattered to the wind.

Her black eyes glanced up at Angela a few times. She was concentrating and not returning the glances. She looked so put together, but her wispy, thin hair was falling around her face as she leaned down. She could never keep her ponytail together, and Fareeha loved it. It made the serious, secretive woman look a little more human. She caught herself before she thought anything about wanting to know more about Angela. It was not going to happen.

Nothing would happen. They would always be doing this shy, tentative dance around one another-- Fareeha moving forward, Angela turning away. It was all professional-- a doctor must be close to care for her patient-- but Fareeha could still bask in that closeness, and in the feeling of Angela’s gloved hands on her skin.


End file.
